INSTANT LIGHT

ANDREI TARKOVSKY is perhaps one of the greatest filmmakers of all time. The Mirror, a film he made in the 1970s is a beautifully sad exploration of life through the eyes of a boy and his relationship with, as well as his perspective of his mother. Quite bleak with moments of pure poetry and insight into consciousness on a level that only the cinema can obtain, there is no doubt that it is a masterpiece.

My good friend Troy was visiting St Marks book shop in the East Village and came across a book of Tarkovsky's polaroids called Instant Light (Thames & Hudson), which features a collection of images the man captured over the years in Russia and later Italy. After mentioning the book to my wife and I, my wife took it upon herself to grab it as a gift for me (slick). I am absolutely floored! This book is beautiful. I haven't been able to put it down much and find myself gazing into an image for huge chunks of time, getting lost in his world.

Fucking brilliant!! Bad-Ass mother-fucker, he was!!

What's really amazing is how Tarkovsky captures such a similar vibe with 35mm motion picture film. If one was to do an A/B comparison of some of the polaroids against some of the images from his films, one would see an amazing similarity between the hues, lighting and composition. Tarkovsky was actually able to realize his personal vision in the motion pictures. That is one of the highest and most difficult levels to achieve in any artistic creation.

Of course, I like anything about Tarkovsky and I hope the Film Forum will show The Mirror sometime soon so I can experience it on the big screen in all its glory.

As with all of his work, this book is another level of beauty in our bleak and shitty world...

FUCKING GOD DAMN HELL WITH THIS ART SHIT

There are days when I feel that art is dead. Like today, for example.

After years of struggle, one often loses the drive or desire to create anything. The struggle to learn the craft ie: piano etc... The struggle to discipline oneself for much needed practice. The dedication, stamina, sacrifice, and plain old hard work can vanish from memory. Some days I forget what I've put myself through to learn how to really play this instrument. To refine my perspective and communication skills as best I can, without much help. To squeeze in 10 hours per day of practice and pay the rent! No fucking way!

Envy is evil and all too present in the creative struggle. To see those who receive help and then hit it big only to think it's all because of them can be quite frustrating. I've been working on avoiding those kinds of thoughts and keeping a positive attitude towards this, but some days it's virtually impossible. I feel tired. I feel worn out. Inspiration is lost. Artistic drive dwindling by the day. I cannot create and have nothing to say.

Witnessing what the public reacts to these days really gets me thinking if art has any place in the modern world or if it is my perspective of art that has become distorted and overloaded. Perhaps I've got it all wrong. It can't be completely true! There are many great works that I like and that are valued by a large global community over time. Confusion and chaos. It's all becoming one to me. Black to me. 

Or maybe I'm simply stuck in some antiquated form of art, more specifically music. I feel antiquated and out of touch. I feel as though my work is of no importance and the enjoyment I get back is hardly there anymore. Is it time to move on? Do any of you feel this way about your own work or personal struggles?

Perhaps it is time I look for something else to do. After all satisfying my  selfish desire to create art in hopes of making a connection with someone out there is not really a noble life. When the world is in such a state of disgust, unrest and despair, why would art mean anything? Political art is not art. It is even more of a selfish ego-satisfying display of bullshit, using the political motive as a means to draw attention to the art as opposed to the work existing on its own. It's saying "Look at me, I'm important" To me there is no art in that. This isn't a 'what is art' post so I'll save that for another.

All I know is the day to day struggle that we all face on many different levels is part of the equation. There can be no good without evil. No sunshine without mud filled fields of shit and rotted corpses.

I see blackness, if I see at all. 

iGrado from Grado Labs!

Finally some serious headphones for my ipod. I've been using the Grados for some time now. After discovering the family of Grado headphones I was truly amazed at how well my SR60s performed. For serious listening the Grados blow away the competition.

Listening to music without the full frequency range is really not giving the listener the proper experience. I'm sure many audiophiles will attest to the sonic integrity of the Grados. I've mixed records and films with them, and find that they hold up in professional audio settings. Since I'm a jazz musician my budget is minimal, but there exists a pair at many price points.

So now I have to add these to my wish list. Happy listening...

 

WKCR BACHFEST 2008!

For me the holiday season does bring something cool to NYC. Thanks to the good people at WKCR, I get to listen to a week of great music from J.S. Bach. I look forward to it every year and I keep the radio tuned to 89.9 throughout the apartment. Glenn Gould gets a noteworthy chunk of airtime, of course. Keith Jarrett, Wanda Landowski, Rosalyn Tureck, E. Power Biggs, Segovia and many other great musicians that have put down some incredible performances juice up the airwaves. So glad that these artists existed and that circumstances enabled them to leave these recordings behind. 

As a pianist it is impossible for me to have learned without listening to Gould. His sense of time and insight into this music as well as his perspective on life make for a truly rich connection. Upon first hearing Glenn's recordings I was immediately blown away. After discovering all the film footage of him performing and discussing music I felt as though I had found a mini music school. I probably learned more from this than much of my time studying at the conservatory. His radio programs were incredible. I remember one in which he traveled 1000 miles due north of Winnipeg to a tiny town called Churchill on Hudson Bay. He was, to say the least, all encompassing of interesting things. Most of all was the sweet music.

Back to listening...

AFTER A FEW SETS and a few drinks

So the band was hot...And I mean hot. Must've been 1000 degrees in there tonight. Place was full and the crowd seemed into it. It was fuel for some good music making with my trio. I've suddenly transcended the tiny upright console box that struggles to spit out sweet notes while enduring intense punishment under my pounding fists in the steamy bar. I imagined myself at the helm of a Steinway B. Rich bass, round mids and smooth treble and downright bad ass. The drums were sparkling with great intensity. Almost too loud! But then a drop-down as the dynamics shift to mezzo piano. The music guides us. The bass plays on, complimenting this peculiar harmonic universe we've entered. Without it? a void, black and vast.

Take a break. Fill up with wine and ease the tension in my back caused by the horrendous posture I get myself into at the piano. Talk with great friends and feel moments of goodness in this fucked up life. Talk about art! YES YES YES! In the real universe discussing contributions that span centuries. "It's fucking amazing!" someone might say. "I don't care for the work" another might say. Anything great is allowed to be discussed in this forum.

Good and drunk. Band has consumed some tasty cheese. Good thing I've got the guys to go to battle with. Back on the bandstand. Piano starts it this time. I find something. I search for something, anything. Some clue as to where we'll go this last set for the night. The band wants an original. So we go there and pound out the tunes while everyone continues their good times. We make it through the set. Pack up and more drunkenness as the bar empties out. The bandstand is closed up for another week. Until we meet again...